


here in your head(i can't tell if it's warm or cold)

by moggin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad Parenting, Blood, Constellations, Crying, Dream is really confused, Dreams, Fire, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Guns, Hitman AU, Major character death - Freeform, Men Crying, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Respawn, Trust Issues, Zodiac signs - Freeform, brain stuff, but not really?, read chapter 2 youll know what i mean by that, shit happens dude I'm gonna add tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moggin/pseuds/moggin
Summary: Dream gets sent to the SMP universe with no memory, and he's goddamn confused.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 52
Kudos: 172





	1. prologue

Clay woke up in an uncomfortable metal fold-out chair.

Groaning, he tried to rub his eyes, but when he tried to pull his arms up, they wouldn’t budge. He felt the fabric tied around his wrists shift, and it hurt more than it should’ve. He guessed his wrists were already raw from the chafing. He was told he moved around a lot in his sleep.

“Hello, sinner. I’m giving you a chance to get out of Hell. You’re gonna fix some things.”

Clay looked around for the speaker. The voice was all-enveloping, and he couldn’t pinpoint its source. And as for the actual content of the smooth voice… well, he didn’t know that either.

“What?” Clay said. 

“Are you dense? It’s not hard to understand.” The voice was even but dripping with irritation. Like it hadn’t just told him something completely foreign and expected him to know what the hell it was talking about.

“It is. You’re making no sense.” Clay didn’t know how he got here. It was a dark, tiny room. He could only barely make out the wavering outline of something in front of him. It vaguely looked like a human frame, but he could barely see it. He assumed it was the speaker.

“I’m bailing you out of Hell.”

“Yeah that’s the thing. What are you talking about? Why are my hands tied? How did I get here? Where am-”

“I checked your memories. I don’t think you belong in Hell. I got permission to give you another chance, and you’re gonna prove that you don’t belong there.”

“That didn’t answer a single one of my questions.”

“Oh my god, humans are so _stupid_. Just figure out what there is to fix, and fix it.” The figure started wavering more, and Clay realized it was disappearing.

“Wait, wait you’re not making any sense-” The figure was gone before he could ask any other questions. Hell? Bailing him out? Fix something? Clay was supremely confused. His focus shifted from his confusion to reality when he found himself falling backwards, though. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Clay choked on the thick humidity and the deafening silence of whatever place he was in as he fell.


	2. he's just sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream realizes he's not in the same place as he used to be, and finally sees an old friend again.

Clay blearily acknowledged the light seeping in from behind his eyelids, knowing it was morning. He felt the soft grass tickling his arms as he lay, basking in the sun. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the bright overcast sky. This was nice. He liked dreams like these. Maybe George would be in this one, sitting with him and looking at the sky like they usually do.

Clay let his eyes fall closed once more, lying happily in the grass and breathing in the fresh morning air. 

The light that was still apparent through his eyelids ceased suddenly, like something was over him now, blocking his eyes from the light. Did someone come over and put down an umbrella or something? Clay kind of didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to drift off into sleep….

The nasally noise of a sheep bleating filled his ears, _loud_. His eyes shot open, only to realize the thing that was providing him shade was a sheep’s head. It stared emotionlessly into his eyes as he jolted upright, hitting his face on the sheep’s chin. Rubbing his forehead comfortingly, he turned and looked at the sheep. It wore the same expression as before, if not a little more annoyed, and it turned and walked away, eventually lowering its head to chew on some grass. 

Clay huffed, blowing the hair out of his eyes. He looked down at himself. He was wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans. Luckily, he still had his mask. He looked around at his surroundings, and came to a harrowing realization.

He had _no idea_ where he was. He was in a small field by a wooden path, near an odd-looking tree(why were the leaves only on the very top?) and a doorway into a hill. The land was strangely bumpy, unnaturally so, and there was yellowed grass in random places. The land was patchy.

Clay decided his best bet to figuring out where he was was to go through the doors. Maybe there would be someone there who could tell him how to get back to the company building. When he reached the doors(almost spraining his ankle on the way, due to the uneven land) he noticed a sign next to them. _Tommyinnit Enterprise_. Tommyinnit? Like THE Tommyinnit?

Dream was wary as he slowly opened the door, being sure to make no sound. Did Tommy move his company to this place? _Why would he do that?_ Before he could really look into the place, he heard a voice and quick footsteps behind him.

“Hey, Dream! I was looking for you!”

Clay turned to see someone he hadn’t seen in a long time. He just stood there, shellshocked, as Nick ran over to him with a big smile on his face.

Clay remembered him from when he was seven years old, shorter than the rest of the kids in their complex but acting like he was the biggest. He always wore a big toothy grin that showed off his missing baby teeth, and had fluffy black hair that moved with the breeze. Despite his playful and goofy nature, he had dark, intelligent eyes, bordering mysterious. Clay remembered when Nick tripped and scraped his knee, and his eyes were shiny in the daylight, his cheeks flushed and wet. Clay had helped him up and to the nurse, where he was given a dinosaur-themed band-aid. He looked really happy to have such a cool band-aid.

In class at some point, Clay didn’t remember when, the teacher had given them a small project. The students had to draw all their favorite things, and write them on a sheet. Nick had drawn Clay holding a dinosaur. “You’re my favorite thing! And then dinosaurs!! Because they’re cool and I really really like them.” Clay had been really happy, and he drew Nick in a green shirt.

“You’re _my_ favorite thing, and I like green.” Nick grinned at his best friend. The memory ended, melting into one of Nick holding Clay’s little sister when she was only a year old. He could barely hold her up with his little hands, but he really tried. She was swathed in blankets so if Nick dropped her, she wouldn’t be too hurt. Nick looked at her in wonder as she reached towards his face. He lowered it a little so she could reach, and she grabbed his nose. He laughed a little. “You’re a sap,” Clay said, watching from a couple feet away on his stomach with his head resting on a light fist and his feet waving behind him.

Nick looked up at him. “What’s that?”

“Dunno. Just reminds me of you. Sappy sappy.”

“Sap sap sap. Sappy sap.” Nick looked back at Clay’s sister. “Sappy sap.”

She laughed, grabbing his nose again and trying to repeat his words. “Sap pap. Nap map pap. Sap nap.”

“Sap nap.” Nick booped her nose with his index finger. She giggled.

“Sapnap.” Clay looked at Nick smugly. “I’m calling you that now.”

“Okay, but we need to figure out a nickname for you.”

“Okay.”

They ended up with a page of crossed-out nickname ideas, and no nickname for him. 

A couple weeks later, at the end of school, Clay and Nick were walking home together like always. Their parents were all workaholics, so they didn’t usually come pick them up from school. Their complex wasn’t that far anyway. On the way home, they played a game where they couldn’t step on the cracks in the sidewalk. When they reached the complex, they rode up the elevator together, counting the numbers to the twenty-first floor. Nick’s apartment was right next to Clay’s so they walked there together. They spent a couple hours with each other, playing games and raiding the fridge. When Nick’s dad got home, Clay got up off the rug they were on to go to his apartment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sapnap.”

“Bye, Clay!” He smiled widely and waved goodbye.

That night, when Clay was going to sleep, he heard Nick yelling through the wall. He didn’t know what he was yelling about, but it was probably something stupid that he could ask him about tomorrow. He dismissed the thought and let his eyes close and his consciousness drift.

The next day, Clay woke up late and rushed to school, his big backpack bouncing on his back with every step. When he got to school, he ran through the tiled halls to the classroom. He walked in, looking for Nick, who wasn’t in his usual spot. Clay called for him, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Sapnap!! Sapnap! Where aaare youuu!!” First period came and went, and something heavy settled in the pit of Clay’s stomach.

Nick didn’t come to school that day.

The next day, Clay waited outside Nick’s door, waiting for him to come out so they could walk to school together. After twenty minutes of standing there and fiddling with the strap of his backpack, Clay went to school by himself, assuming Nick was just gonna be late. 

He didn’t show up that day, either.

The next morning, like he did the day before, Clay stood outside Nick’s door to wait for him. This time, something smelled funny. Like spoiled milk or rotting food. Clay knew Nick’s parents were very stingy people, they would never let food go to waste. He wondered what was going on. Remembering one time when Nick told him there was a spare key to their house under the hallway carpet at the end of the hall, Clay walked to the end of the hall. He pulled up a little bit of the corner and there it was, glinting in the greenish fluorescent lighting. Clay flipped the cool metal in his sweaty palm as he walked back to Nick’s door, putting the key in the hole when he got there. He tried twisting it(the wrong way at first, but he got it the second time) and the door unlocked with a mechanical click. He turned the knob, taking a deep breath and swallowing any fear that had built up. This was Nick he was talking about. He just needed to wake him up and get him to come to school. He was just asleep. Bears hibernate, right?

When he opened the door, the smell got exponentially worse. Clay slapped a hand on his nose, dropping the key in the process, and he didn’t hear the tiny muffled thud on the carpet. He walked into where he knew Nick’s room was, and everything was mostly the same. His things were kept neatly like they usually were, his books stacked on his desk and his bed made. Everything was the same, except for the trash bag in the middle of his room. 

_Why would his parents put this here? Is it that hard to take out the trash?_ Clay was wondering, looking at the black bag and walking over to it. He noticed tiny holes in the bag, most a little less than a centimeter in diameter and surrounded by little crescent shaped marks. _I’ll just take it out for them. They’ll thank me later when their house doesn’t smell._

Clay took the bag by the knot on the top and tried to pick it up, but it was surprisingly heavy. _What did they even put in here? Trash isn’t usually this heavy._ He settled for dragging the bag across the floor and into the living room, taking a small break before taking it out to the trash chute. It took a little while, but eventually he dragged the bag down the hall and to the little square door in the wall. He didn’t know how he was going to get the bag through the chute, since it was so heavy. But damn it he was gonna try.

He kneeled down, taking the bag in his arms, and tried to hoist it up like that. Realizing he was too weak for that, he kneeled all the way down and tried to push the bag up by the middle. Without realizing the action put pressure on a rip in the bottom of the bag.

Before he could stop it, the black plastic ripped open, and the contents of the bag spilled out. Clay squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let the food fall onto him. He didn’t wanna be gross, he was going to school right after this! He would get made fun of if he smelled like trash.

He felt the contents fall out and onto him, but it didn’t feel like food. The shapes were different. There were long bits and it felt hard but still squishy. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see what he was holding.

He did it anyway, and immediately regretted it. 

In his arms, dead and rotting, was his best friend. His intelligent dark eyes were staring off into space, emotionless. His hair was matted with god-knows-what, Clay didn’t even want to know. His body was limp and cold and sticky, and Clay wanted to wake up. This was just a dream. This was just a nightmare.

He closed his eyes and started breathing quicker, feeling the waves of panic slowly growing closer to his little place on the sand. He would wake up soon. His hands started shaking, and he pulled Nick to his chest, hugging him. The boy’s head lolled around, falling onto his shoulder. Clay held him, gripping at the back of his white t-shirt with shaking hands. He just wanted to wake up. He hugged Nick tighter to him, trying to ignore the unnatural angle his legs were at and the way his arms fell limply at his sides. 

He just wanted to wake up. Please, just wake up.

This wasn’t a dream, was it?

His hands stopped shaking, and he felt weirdly numb. As he hugged the still boy in his arms, still clutching the back of his shirt(albeit more loosely), he began to realize that this was what death was. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

It wasn’t like those horror movies he watched sometimes with his parents. There wasn’t a bloody knife, a masked serial killer, or gallons of blood. There wasn’t a gruesome crime scene, blood smeared on the walls and handprints everywhere. 

There was a loving family, an old, run down, musty hallway, and a tiny second grader hugging the student who was marked absent. 

There were pitiful looks, pats on the back, a quiet investigation and then an empty apartment next to his. There was a lingering feeling of a child’s cold head on his shoulder, and glances at the empty seat he left in the classroom.

Clay realized death wasn’t scary. It was sad, pitiful, and cold, but not scary. 

It was a quiet, overcast April day, the day Clay learned what death was.

“-eam. Dream. _Dream_.”

Clay snapped back to reality. Or, _this_ reality. He was standing face to face with those dark, intelligent eyes and that fluffy black hair he missed so much. Nick had grown, he was more filled out and he was tall, shorter than Clay but still tall, and actually quite attractive. 

“Are you okay, dude? You kind of spaced out there for a second.”

Clay didn’t say anything as he pulled Sapnap into a crushing hug. He buried his head into his neck, breathing in the nostalgic scent, even though it was covered by some new musk. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling, simply moving his mask to the side of his face and burying his nose further into his friend’s neck. Sapnap stiffened for a second, not expecting the hug, but returning it anyway. He wrapped his strong arms around Clay, supporting his quivering frame. Clay held him so tightly, like he would disappear if he didn’t hold on. 

Sapnap noted the odd behavior and dug down three blocks without letting go of Clay. He put a block above them, and sat down in the little hole. Dream sat with him, letting Sapnap straddle his waist and lean his head on his shoulder, feeling every sob that wracked through the distressed boy. Clay didn’t know when Sapnap started carding his fingers through his hair, holding him until his sobs died down into soft sniffles. “Dream?”

Oh, right. He was Dream. “Yeah?” His voice was hoarse and deep from the crying.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Clay took a deep breath. “I just… missed you so much.”

There was a pause. Sapnap didn’t know how to respond to that. Dream never lost him. What was he on about? “I was gone for like an hour? Have you gotten more clingy?”

“I just…. Nevermind. It’s hard to explain." _How do I explain that I remember finding your dead body in vivid detail?_ "I just missed you.”

Sapnap lightly chuckled in his arms. “Okay, Dream.”

There was another pause, this one more comfortable than the last. “Can you promise me something?”

“Depends.”

“You won’t ever leave me again?”

 _Again?_ Sapnap doesn’t remember leaving him since they met. He started worrying for Dream. Was something wrong with him? Did he hit his head on something? He was making no sense, and Sapnap had never left him, like _really_ left him, before. Dream was making it sound like he died or something-

“Nick?”

Dream felt Sapnap stiffen in his arms, and the shorter man's fingers stopped playing with his hair. “Where did you learn that name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its confusing dont worry itll get worse


	3. constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// ABUSE AND ALCOHOLISM, GUN VIOLENCE, BLOOD, AND MILD SMUT

“What?” Clay was confused. That was his name. His name’s Nick. And he never answered the question.

“Dream, where did you learn that name?”

“What do you mean, that’s-”

“That’s not my name.” His tone was stern. Dream didn’t really believe him, but he didn’t want to pry either, so he just responded with a simple “okay. Sorry.”

“Let’s go back to the base. You need rest. And food. How’s your health?” Sapnap dug them out of the hole, and distanced himself from Dream. Dream never answered his question, his mind elsewhere. _Something about me calling him Nick really set him off._

They walk down a wooden path, and Dream finds himself wondering about the Tommyinnit Enterprise he saw. If it _was_ Tommy’s company building, then it was dangerous to be here. Assuming Tubbo hadn’t moved the company building too, he was really far from where he should be. Why was Sapnap here? Did Sapnap belong to Tommy’s company? And if it was his building, why the hell would he want a literal dirt shack to be his company building? Dream didn’t really know Tommy too well, but he had heard from associates that Tommy was aggressive, overpowering, and clean. Not tidy, he had heard from Eret that Tommy usually had papers strewn about his office, but everything was clean. Someone like that wouldn’t just up and move from the sleek high-rise he remembered to a dirt shack. With uneven land and weird-ass trees. 

If it was Tommy’s building, then where was everyone? Usually Tommy had his members patrolling the area undercover, so he was quick to know if there was a threat. Dream remembered when he saw Technoblade sipping from a white porcelain cup in a coffee shop, eyeing Dream over the lip. Dream had left the area promptly, not wanting to get caught up with him.

People didn’t usually come out the same after doing that. 

The silence between him and Sapnap was uncomfortable, neither really having anything to say after their little debacle. To be fair, Dream didn’t really have anything to say after finally meeting his friend who’s been dead for fourteen years, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sit in silence. Maybe if Sapnap hung out around here, he would know about Technoblade. 

“Hey, Sapnap.”

“Yeah?” Sapnap didn’t turn to look at him, nor did he slow his pace to be next to him. His voice was quieter, less boisterous than it was before, and Dream found he had trouble hearing it with the bad angle and the cold wind hitting their faces.

Dream didn’t say anything. He almost expected Sapnap to not answer him, so when he did Dream wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

“Are you just not gonna say anything?” Sapnap turned his head a little to acknowledge that he was even talking to Dream, and Dream could see the outer edge of his right eye.

“Sorry, I’m just not really a fan of the silence.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want to talk at me then? I’m not really in the mood for talking.” Sapnap turned his gaze back ahead. 

“Sure. I don’t remember how long ago this was, but I was walking around so I could-” Dream hesitated. If Sapnap didn’t know he killed people for a living, that would come as a shock. He couldn’t give himself up yet, lest this Sapnap decided he should be convicted, “do some stuff. I saw Techno in a coffee shop, and he was giving me this look. It was kind of scary. I think it’s because I was walking pretty close to Tommy’s company building, but what did he want me to do? My targ- my _client_ was walking near there, so I was too. Techno has, like, the same job as me, too. It’s bullshit. Like, dude, just cut me some slack and let’s all benefit. We’re all in the same boat here.”

Sapnap had slowed down, now walking next to Dream. There was a look in his eyes. Dream didn’t want to call it fear, but it was sure as hell on the more fear-ridden side of confusion. 

“Dream, what the fuck are you talking about?” They stopped walking, and Dream turned to face him, confusion etched on his features. Not like Sapnap could see, since he was wearing the mask. He tilted his head to get the point across instead. 

“What do you mean? I’m talking to you.”

“About what?”

“Something that happened a little while ago. Why do you look so scared?” Then it hit him. “Oh, have you had a run-in with Technoblade before? I’m really sorry for reminding you of that, he’s a scary dude. We can talk about something else.” Dream, carefree and letting his arms swing, turned back to keep walking along the path. Sapnap grabbed his wrist, but not harshly. He seemed genuinely concerned. “Sapnap?”

“Dream, are you okay?” Dream turned to look at Sapnap, and even though the black haired man’s tone would never give it away, his eyes held a glint of desperation. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”

“Dream, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Company buildings? A coffee shop? Clients? Jobs? And who the fuck is Techno? You’re making no sense. Something happened between when I left you earlier today and when I found you outside Tommy’s house. What the fuck happened.” _Tommy’s house. So it wasn’t his company building._

“N-”

“Don’t _fucking_ say nothing happened.” The desperation in Sapnap’s eyes was replaced with something close to rage.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t remember anything happening.”

Sapnap sighed, giving up and letting go of Dream’s wrist. “Fine. Be that way.”

“I genuinely don’t, Sapnap!”

“Okay, Dream.” Sapnap clearly didn’t buy it, but he kept walking. “Come on.” His voice was quieter. Defeated. Dream wordlessly followed him, noticing how his posture slightly worsened.

The path, Dream noticed, seemed pretty strange. Not bad, but strange. They descended a long stairwell, and then a long straight line for a while. There were rose bushes by the path, and a small berry farm, and chests scattered about. The path itself wasn’t in a great state, it was nicked and broken in at least five places, one of which seemed like a giant explosion destroyed it. On that part, they had to be careful not to fall, as the plank they were walking on was a little less than a foot wide, and there was a small drop next to it. They really should get that fixed, it’s a hazard. And Tommy _lives_ here? 

Dream thought Tommy would rather die than live somewhere with something so low quality, but since there was a different Sapnap in this place, maybe there was a different Tommy too.

When they arrived at the base, or what Dream guessed was the base, Sapnap opened a chest next to a row of pink beds. He took out some steak and gave it to Dream, who took it gratefully and started chewing the tough meat. 

“George should be home soon.” Dream perked up at the name. George was here? He thought that maybe George wouldn’t be here, since Sapnap had never heard of Technoblade. 

“Okay,” he said simply, not really wanting to give anything away about how relieved he was that George existed.

Sapnap leaned against the crafting table by the winding wooden stairwell. Dream questioned the stairwell, it looked rickety and unstable. He would just scale the building or something if he wanted to go to the second floor. He didn’t trust those stairs, and no matter how much he wanted to, he didn’t trust the man sitting in front of them either. Not yet. 

“Do you want anything while we wait? Like, water or something?”

Dream thought about it. He really did. 

Sapnap found him outside Tommy’s ‘house’, meaning he was walking around there anyway. He also denied having known Technoblade, or what the company buildings were. This was common with hitmen, especially ones who weren’t familiar. 

They would never reveal their profession until it was confirmed that they wouldn’t be ratted out.

Dream knew Tommy was a sly kid. He wouldn’t put it past him to do all of this to disorient one of Tubbo’s guys, namely Dream, and get information from him. Dream didn’t trust him. And he had heard of truth serums being used occasionally. If this was all just an elaborate plot to trick him into giving up information, truth serum wouldn’t be out of the question, and a great way to give someone truth serum without them knowing would be through something as simple as a glass of water. Truth serum was tasteless and colorless. After all, it was usually used without consent, or at least without explicit consent.

This would be a perfect way to complete the plan, and he wouldn’t let it happen.

“I don’t want your water.”

Sapnap looked almost offended, mostly confused, but said nothing. He turned his head to the side, suddenly fixated on something on the floor. Dream didn’t want his conversation, especially if he was just a spy.

Something in him questioned how Tommy would find someone that looked and smelled so similar to his childhood friend, but Tommy was a smart man. That’s how he climbed to his position. He was smart, fast, and would go to harrowing lengths to get what he wanted, uncaring of who he had to step on to get it.

It wasn’t much longer before Dream heard a cute british voice. “Hey guys. Why are you so depressed?”

Dream looked up and was met with George’s familiar face. He was wearing an anxious smile. He had a blue shirt with a red-rimmed white box on it, and Dream wondered why he would want to wear it since he couldn’t see red. “Nothing much. Sapnap was thinking I was crazy for a minute.”

“He was talking about this ‘Techno’ guy. And, like,” Sapnap was gesticulating, conveying his confusion at the situation. Dream thought it was rather convincing, and his suspicion of him being a spy went down a little, “company buildings and stuff. And he said something about a coffee shop.”

George’s confused look turned to one of worry. “Dream, are you okay? We don’t have any of those, and who’s Techno?” The shorter man took a few tentative steps towards Dream.

“I’m fine. I don’t know.” Dream’s suspicion wasn’t entirely gone, but George was the client. Why was he here, with another hitman? If Sapnap was a hitman, of course. Dream was beginning to think he was the crazy one here.

George shot him a worried glance before turning his attention back to Sapnap. “I’m picking out flowers for the front of the house. You’re coming.”

“Okay.” Sapnap seemed glad to have a reason to leave the heavy atmosphere. 

“Why do you need him to pick flowers?”

“I’m colorblind, Dream. I can’t see the colors.”

“Oh. Right.” It was then that he remembered that George had said something about being colorblind when he had spoken to him last. Well, the last time they were alone.

He had snuck into George’s large house again, the shorter boy even going so far as to leave his door unlocked so Clay could enter easily. He had guessed that he was the only person in a while to be friends with George if the boy was so readily letting someone into his home and his life. Especially when that someone was trying to kill him not 24 hours prior.

He knocked on George’s bedroom door because he still had _some class_ , and he opened it at the small “come in”. George’s room was beautiful, he had to admit. 

It had desaturated light blue walls and elegant white moldings and two large arched windows with window seats framed by plain blue curtains, a shade darker than the wall. A wall of old leather bound books and family photos in various frames sat on the right wall, and a queen-size bed with double stuffed comforters and a semi-transparent linen canopy on the left. The bedsheets were the same color as the curtains, while the pillows were clean and white. There was dark herringbone flooring and thick, heavy mahogany beams interrupting the simple white ceiling, the saem tone as the floors. It was an elegant room, and Clay was just as floored by its beauty(and that of the man who sat in the window seat) that night as he was the night before.

He figured this would be a good distraction from the events of the day, and a nice way to wrap up the weekend. Sure, he was supposed to kill him as soon as possible, and getting close to him was _definitely_ a bad idea, but something about George just drew Clay to him.

“Hi,” Clay said.

“Hey, are you into astrology? Or astronomy?” George didn’t look away from the window.

“A little. I don’t really know the difference, if I’m being honest.” Clay took a few steps closer to George after closing his tall bedroom door.

“Oh.” They were silent for a few seconds. Clay walked over to the window seat George was curled up in, and sat on the other side of it, facing George. The brunet flicked his gaze from the sky to Clay’s masked face, his expression unreadable. “You could tell me about it.”

George’s face filled with excitement, and it took everything in Dream’s power to not squeal. He was glad he wore a mask, since he couldn’t help the giddy smile from his face. He started to explain where the different constellations were and what they depicted, some of which Clay thought were absolutely ridiculous(who in their right mind thinks that any of these look like animals??). He walked Clay through the 10 major constellations, then the 12 that represented the zodiac signs. He told him of the myths that were associated with each of them, and Clay found himself entranced with George’s passion for this stuff he didn’t understand.

“What’s your zodiac sign?” George asked, looking at Clay. Well, looking at his mask. The moonlight cast a soft glow on George’s face, and Clay felt his heart beat faster looking at the stunning boy in front of him.

“I’m a Leo.” His voice was, luckily, believably even.

“Neat. That one’s about Hercules. Do you know of him?”

“I’ve seen the movie. My Disney or Pixar or something.” 

“Does that movie go over the Nemean lion?” George leaned in a bit, interested. 

“Have you not seen it?”

“My dad doesn’t really let me watch movies. Says it rots my brain.” George’s gaze turned downwards, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. 

Clay knew when to stay on a topic and when not to, and this seemed like a strangely tough subject for George, so he didn’t dwell on it. “I’ll take you to one sometime.” He knew he couldn’t keep that promise, but the wide eyes George looked at him with made him melt. “That one talks about Hercules and the muses and stuff, and how he falls in love with this girl who I’m blanking on the name of. And she’s a mortal so she’s gonna die but he doesn’t want her to. I’m not gonna spoil the rest, since we’re gonna watch it together at some point.”

George was smiling at him. “That sounds nice. So they don’t talk about the Nemean lion?”

Clay rolled his eyes, doing a head movement to clarify when he remembered George couldn’t see his eyes. “No, they don’t talk about the Nemean lion.”

“Okay, well here’s how the story goes. So there’s this lion, right? And it’s basically unkillable. Arrows don’t go through it, swords are useless, it’s basically invincible, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“So Hercules goes after it, trying to kill it because it was, like, terrorizing the city of Nemea.”

“Is that why it’s called the Nemean lion?”

“I would guess so. Anyway, so he’s going after this lion. He shot it with arrows at first but they didn’t do anything, so he started beating it with his clubs. The lion got scared and ran into a cave where Hercules wrestled it for a bit, then he strangled it to death. He took the skin and put it on himself and then offered the lion to Zeus as a sacrifice. Zeus put it in the sky, and now it’s a constellation. The end.”

Clay felt himself relating to the story a lot more than he probably should have. 

“Cool story.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure, what’s it about?” George leaned back so his back was against the narrow white wall behind him. 

“I haven’t named it yet.”

“Okay. Go on.” It seemed like George had already put the pieces together, already knew all about Clay, and all Clay wanted was to have a look inside that beautiful mind of George’s, filled with stars and constellations and passion for the night sky.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy with two happy parents.”

He was nine at the time. His mother and father were seemingly a happy couple, but Clay never noticed the quiet arguments they would have after he went to sleep. He didn’t realize how broken their relationship was until it became painfully apparent.

“They always left for work and came home at the same time. One day, the boy’s mother didn’t come home with his father.”

His dad had been in a grumpy mood since that morning, and he came home reeking of alcohol. It wasn’t uncommon for his parents to get a drink after work, but usually his dad didn’t drink this much. Nothing really happened, Clay just acknowledged that maybe interacting with his dad right now wasn’t the best idea(usually he got really angry when he drank this much), so he retreated to his room after exchanging simple greetings. 

He pretended he didn’t hear the front door quietly click shut much later that night, while the moon was high in the sky. All he heard were the small taps of his mom’s cream-colored heels on the floorboards as she passed his room. He feigned sleep when she cracked the door open to check on him, and luckily she believed it. 

“The boy’s father became something like that lion you told me about.”

Clay didn’t question it when his mom came out into the living room with a limp the next morning; she probably ran into something while she was walking around in the dark. He shrugged it off and took another bite of his cereal. His parents were off that day, which he acknowledged so he would know to not fool around with his friends after school. He had to come right home, or his parents would think he was slacking.

When he arrived home from school, he waited in the gray-tinted hallway for a second, holding the key an inch from the lock. He had heard arguing coming from the other side of the door. The voices were muffled, but years of living with them allowed him to clearly identify the voices as his mother and father. He lowered the key and pressed his ear to the metal door, careful to not make any noise. 

They were shouting profanities, his mom saying something about making a scene and losing their jobs, his dad accusing his mom of cheating. Were they playing a game? His mom was calling him a bad husband(not in those words, though) and blaming him for something Clay didn’t know. He heard glass breaking, and his mom shouting, this time not in anger. 

He quickly jammed his key into the door and turned it, opening the door abruptly and refraining from covering his nose. The smell of alcohol was extremely present. He saw a broken bottle of whiskey in his dad’s fist, and guessed that the brownish liquid on the floor was the reason for the pungent atmosphere.

His mother lay unconscious on the floor, a bit of blood leaking from a wound on the crown of her head. A lot of the alcohol was on her and a thought came to him. 

Did his dad do that?

He was ordered to go to his room, and the tone his dad used was frankly terrifying so he retreated to his room, stepping over his mother to get there.

For the next couple months, his parents never went to work, and he always had to come home right after school. His friends stopped talking to him since he was never able to hang out with them, and he wondered why they didn’t just enjoy his company during school and have that be it. He missed Sapnap. 

He noticed his mother’s slightly larger belly one day, while his dad was out buying alcohol. She had gently guided his small hand to the swelling, telling him that was gonna be his new baby brother. He looked at her, surprised and confused. She just smiled at him, before hugging him. He realized he hadn’t been hugged in a while. He noticed the way she slightly flinched when he hugged her back.

When his dad came home, she pulled away immediately.

“The boy and his mother didn’t know how to stop him, so he kept going. Eventually, the boy stopped the lion.”

It was a little while later, a couple weeks since his mother had hugged him and told him about her pregnancy. His house was almost always filled with his dad’s yelling nowadays, but this time it was worse. Instead of staying in his room like he should’ve, or like he usually did, he went into the living room and witnessed his dad cocking a small handgun. He tried to run to stop him, but there was a gunshot and the sound of metal rattling to the ground away from his father.

He ran to the gun instead of his mother. When he got to it, he was knocked to the ground, but he curled up and took the few punches his father was giving him in an attempt to take the gun. Clay wouldn’t let his father take it. 

In a panic, and because he didn’t realize that guns were entirely real and could kill people, Clay pointed the gun at his father. The man immediately paused, watching the barrel of the gun like it would do anything.

What he should have done was stayed still and talked to Clay. Instead, he decided that moving quickly to grab the gun was the right choice, and Clay flinched, accidentally pulling the trigger. A shot rang out, and his father fell to the ground with a heavy thump. He stayed where he was for a few seconds, catching his breath. 

His mother.

He scrambled to her limp form. She had a hole squarely in the center of her forehead. She looked almost peaceful, her expression completely relaxed. He would almost think she was just sleeping if she wasn’t sprawled out on the floor of their apartment.

“The boy killed the lion, but he didn’t save anyone.”

The thoughts in Clay’s head organized themselves enough for Clay to comprehend what he just did. His father had just killed his mother, and he had just shot and killed his father. He was a murderer. 

“He knew everyone would ostracize him and put him in jail, so he took what he could and ran.”

He took one gasping breath and rushed to his room to grab his backpack. He picked up a couple notebooks and a few pens and pencils, taking a last look at his room before going to the kitchen. He stuffed as much food as he could into his green backpack before remembering he probably needed money to get anywhere.

He was careful when handling his father’s body, but he got his wallet out pretty easily. He took out all of the money that was in the small leather wallet, which was almost forty dollars. He put the wallet back into his dad’s pocket, steeling himself before leaving the apartment for the last time, locking the door behind him. It faintly crossed his mind that this was the second time this hallway would reek of dead bodies.

Clay made sure to leave the building through the back door, the one that led to an alleyway behind the building.

“Eventually, he made a friend.”

Clay had wandered for a couple days, stopping by grocery stores and delis to get food, before someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whipped around, still paranoid. Instead of the hulking figure he was expecting, a little boy with surprisingly fox like features stood in front of him. The boy said he had seen him walking around, and wondered if he wanted to be friends. He introduced himself as Fundy. Clay nodded and they made it work, together. 

“The end.” Clay wasn’t even really looking at George, and he didn’t know why his eyes still glazed over thinking about this.

“Clay, are you okay?”

Clay snickered. “Depends how you define it.”

George didn’t answer. “I already told you most of the stuff about me last night. There’s really not much to tell. I’m not… I’m not very interesting.”

“You’re very interesting, George.”

George laughed bitterly. “You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m serious. You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

George’s smile turned more genuine, eyes darting down to Clay’s body and back up to his face, checking him out.

Clay didn’t miss the way George’s cheeks reddened slightly, before he spoke. “Is your favorite color yellow or something?” he stammered.

“What?”

“You’ve worn a yellow shirt both times you came.”

_Ah, he’s covering up for checking me out. Right._ “This shirt’s green.”

George looked away, embarrassed. “I could’ve sworn it was yellow.”

Dream cocked a brow. “Are you colorblind?”

“Yeah. I can’t see red or green.” He looked wistfully back out at the sky.

Suddenly Clay was filled with the urge to become a scientist and find a cure to colorblindness. He wanted George to see colors. He wanted George to see green. “If you can’t see green,” Clay raised a hand up to clutch the front of his mask, pulling it slowly off his face, “then what do my eyes look like?” George’s attention immediately turned to him and the brunet watched the white wood be pulled from Dream’s face.

If his look was anything to go by, George found him at least half as attractive as he found George. The smaller boy shifted his position, getting on his knees and leaning forward so his face was close to Clay’s. He looked Clay in the eyes, asking for permission, and Clay smiled and cupped his cheek in his large palm. 

George sighed into the kiss, and fireworks were going off in Clay’s head, the taller boy was completely lost in the soft lips of the other. 

The kiss was chaste and innocent, George pulling away after a few seconds to look Clay in the eyes. His eyes were blown and it took him a minute to really comprehend what had just happened, but when he did he put his hands on George’s waist and pulled him into his lap. George straddled Clay, the position a little awkward due to the narrow surface they were sitting on, but Clay was holding George so he wouldn’t fall. 

The pair got lost in each other again, George having put his arms around Clay’s neck, and soon Clay was gripping the back of George’s thighs and standing. George wrapped his legs around Clay’s larger frame instinctively, still not pulling away from his lips. George felt his center of gravity change, and then the plush bed sheets against his back. Clay put his hands on either side of George’s head and ground down onto him, George letting out a small breathy moan. Clay decided he wanted to hear more of that sound.

He wasn’t expecting George to push him away. He immediately leaned back, getting off of George and searching his face for any signs of uncertainty. George just smiled at him, genuinely happy. He sat up from where he was lying, planting a quick kiss on Clay’s lips.

“Can you come back tomorrow night? My cousin is home tonight but he’s got a meeting tomorrow. We’ll have the house to ourselves.” George brushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of Clay’s face, tucking it behind the man’s ear.

The worry drained from Clay’s face. “Of course, baby. I’ll be here. Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow.” 

Dream snapped back to the present. George and Sapnap had left the house, presumably to go pick flowers.

Maybe this George was the same as the one he remembered, but what about the assignment? Did George end up living? How did he get out of it?

Dream was really confused. He decided to wander around a little, to get a feel for the area. He saw a smooth wall of stone, and decided that this was going to be his home because he sure as hell wasn’t rooming with two people who might well be spies, and he got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are greatly appreciated, don't be shy!


	4. embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream discovers respawn. he's confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for @123o0 because i think about them alot <3

For the first time since he woke up, Dream felt a semblance of safety. He had dug a crawlspace into the side of this strange cliff, and he covered up the hole behind him. It was dark and there was a strangely ominous feeling putting him on edge, but he chalked it up to being underground in a hole just barely large enough to lie down in. He was glad he didn’t have claustrophobia. 

He mined forward, just to make sure he didn’t make his room too close to the wall. He was wary of the low durability of the wooden pickaxe he had found in one of the chests in the “community house”, as Sapnap had called it, accepting that the room itself would be pretty small.

After about an hour or so, he had dug out a small cavern. It was a little wider than he was tall, and relatively narrow, dark, dusty and eerily quiet but it was his and to him, if felt homely. Sure, it definitely wasn’t anything to brag about, but the tiny little room he had created gave him a sense of security, and he allowed his mind to wander in the darkness. 

Dream liked the darkness. It was comforting, but maybe this little room would be more enjoyable with light. There was something mildly off-putting about having to feel around the walls to figure out where anything was, even though the room was barren. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed like every time he pressed his palms against the walls they would be slightly closer to him, pressing his arms back to his body.

Luckily, he had mined through some coal while digging out the cavern, and he had a bit of wood. He broke the wood into sticks and put some coal at the end of them. Somehow, a small flame danced on the ends of the newly made torches. 

_How the hell did that work?_

Dream leaned against one of the walls, the one facing the entrance, and slid down to take a seat. He gazed into the warm colors of the fire. He remembered that Sapnap used to really like fire when he was a kid. At least, when Clay knew him. Dream wondered if he still liked fire. It _was_ pretty, Dream admitted to himself, and there was something alluring about the power it held. 

To look, but never touch. He wanted to watch the world burn, if only to see how high the flames could reach, licking at wooden columns and turning old cabins into charcoal. The smell of burning flesh and soot would permeate the air and Dream would breathe in the smoke and ash, accepting his fate. 

That would be a beautiful way to die, wouldn’t it?

As an assassin, Clay thought about death a lot. Sometimes he was thinking about new techniques to kill, sometimes he was thinking of fun ways to die, even though he wasn’t suicidal. Most people were so afraid of death, and he didn’t understand why something so beautiful and elegant could scare people.

He wondered if it was the uncertainty. Nobody knew what came after death, it was the world’s best kept secret. Maybe there was a heaven and a hell, maybe there was a day of judgement, maybe there was reincarnation. The option he guessed scared people the most was the lack of an afterlife. The concept that when you die, there’s nothing else.

Dream couldn’t imagine a better time than that, relaxing in an inky black void for all eternity. If there was nothing, would he even have a consciousness? Or would he just… cease? 

Maybe the way someone died had something to do with what came after. Maybe the egyptians got it right, and burying people (and cats) with the finest materials and charms allowed them to live lavishly even in death. The small fire crackled, and a bit of coal broke off and fell onto his hand. 

He looked dully at the hot coal on his hand. It burned him, but he didn’t really care. His mind was preoccupied. The coal was burning his hand quite a bit where it lay, and it hurt like hell, but a few inches away from the wound, his skin was bathed in a soft warmth.

It reminded him of how the world worked, some are thrust into a burning, agonizing state so the people around them could have comfort. A ballet dancer tortures their feet so the people watching them can be satisfied by their grace. A pilot tries their hardest when the wind is beating down on the plane to keep the passengers safe, if not nauseous from the turbulence. A single parent works two jobs day and night to provide food and a home to their child. Dream crushed the coal in his palm, burning the rest of his hand. Why was one supposed to suffer to keep others in a slightly better state? Why did anyone ever sacrifice themselves to keep someone else safe? 

_Why didn't his parents do that?_

Looking at the black substance smudged on his palm, he came to the conclusion that he was the reason they were like that. After all, they only started falling apart after he was born, if the photos on the dining room table from when they were dating said anything.

Dream set the torch on the ground, sighing. He could think about it for as long as he wanted, he still wouldn’t be any wiser. He picked up his nearly broken wooden pickaxe from where it lay on the ground, crawling out of his little room. He left the torch behind and dug his way out, making sure to patch up the entrance behind him. It was small and puny and cold, but it was _his_ place and he wasn’t letting _anyone_ get to it.

Dream proceeded to simply wander around a bit, examining the area. It was relatively earthy, nothing was very complete or polished. Not nearly as polished as the city he was used to. The land was mostly forest, lush oak trees and the occasional birch surrounding the few structures that existed. He travelled down the path, quietly absorbing the scenery.

He ascended the long staircase he used to get to the community house with Sapnap, passing through a strange sort of man-made valley. Smooth rock with patchy white stone lined the path, and there was a thick layer of soil(a couple feet at least) covering the walls. The path was clearly dug through a hill. When the flat portion of the path ended, the “Tommyinnit Enterprise” he saw earlier came into view, as well as a large, crude-looking tree. There were large golden lemons(who made those? They were way too big to be real) hanging from the uppermost leaves, and the trunk was wider than any Dream had ever seen.

_Who made this?_

There was a small opening in the trunk, a doorway of sorts, and Dream had to move closer to see what lay inside. The late afternoon light wasn’t helping his sight much, and whatever lay beyond the entrance was swamped in shadow. He carefully moved closer, making sure not to make noise with his footsteps. He heard shuffling coming from above him, and when he looked up he saw something blocking bits of light shining through the leaves. It was insanely high up, but since it was almost dark he could see the thing moving behind the curtain of leaves. By the way it was moving, it hadn’t noticed him.

He focused his attention back on the doorway, stalking to the opening. The air was still and he moved with stealth he had perfected from a decade of being a professional assassin. The soft, wet grass crumbled silently underneath his boots.

He was close enough to run his fingers along the rough bark of the tree, to hear the quiet flowing of water coming from inside the structure.

But he couldn’t look inside. He heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming from his left. _Shit_. Dream quickly turned and pressed his back against the dark side of the ‘tree’, listening to loud, youthful footsteps approaching the tree. He heard quiet chuckling, if you could call _that_ quiet, and he heard the footsteps go through the entrance, followed by the creaking of a chest opening. 

Frankly, Dream was debating becoming religious. The fact that he hadn’t been seen just then was nothing short of a miracle. That, or whoever those footsteps belonged to was really, really stupid. Or really distracted. Either way, Dream was lucky. He decided to push his luck.

He slowly slinked along the side of the tree, craning his neck to try to see if the coast was clear. There was nobody there, but he also knew the entrance was open and the inside of the structure was dark. If anyone was in there, they would clearly see him since the outside light seemed to be the only light source. Crossing the entrance would be stupid, so he snuck around the other side of the tree.

There were torches scattered around the land between the tree and the Tommyinnit Enterprise, and the abundance of light made his anxiety spike. The abundance of shadows made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it off. He didn’t sense that he was being watched, an important ability for assassins, so he could only assume he wasn’t. 

Dream quickly but silently walked to the Enterprise, only taking a moment to glance over the signs that read “Tommyinnit Enterprise” before quickly slipping through the door. He noticed the door wasn’t locked, it wasn’t even completely closed. He pressed his back against the door, crouching so he could keep his face out of the light from the door, which had a convenient little window in the top half. He was about to try to crawl into the cave-like hovel, but his eyes flitted down to a small part of the floor that was raised.

A trap?

He gently pressed down on the stone with the bads of his fingers, watching in amazement as the floor directly in front of them opened to reveal a very deep pit, beams of bright warm light shining from the hole. At least from what Dream could see, a fall like that could kill him. When it closed again, Dream saw the tiny seam between the rocks that he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking, especially with the low lighting. He stood, still ducking out of the light from the door, and stepped over the entire thing, the pressure plates and the bit of floor that opened, and scanned the entire room carefully when he was across.

There were chests on the far wall(though the wall wasn’t that far, the entire room was around 30 square feet), and some furnaces. The room had an odd rounded ceiling, like whoever built it had aimed to make a domed ceiling but didn’t know how. It was all stone, and the only light source was the light still coming in from the window. Dream briefly considered going down where the floor opened up, remembering the bright light, but almost immediately scrapped the idea. If it was some sort of secret base, having it open up any time anyone came in was a pretty shitty way of keeping the secret. Plus, he didn’t even know if there was anything down there; it could just be a giant pitfall with no other use than to kill anyone coming into this place uninvited. 

Having something like that was a very Tommy-like thing to do, so Dream assumed that this Tommy was, in fact, the Tommy who owned the opposing company. 

Having a trap like that also almost solidified his belief that all of this was an elaborate hoax. 

He checked behind him so see if anyone was approaching the door before inching forward and opening one of the chests. He noticed a lot of unorganized items. Who the hell puts their food in a chest? Were there no refrigerators? Dream was starting to think this was just Tommy’s house, since it was so small. Calling a normal house an enterprise seemed like something he’d do, anyway.

Dream checked the other chests, ultimately deciding that he would rather not be mugged for stealing from a boss, and closed them all without taking anything.

He left the house as quietly as he had entered, ducking out of the light as soon as he could when he closed the doors behind him(not fully though, he left them as he had found them). _If I stay here, Tommy will probably come back._ He didn’t want that, so he made his way back to the path, only to have a body slam into him, arms wrapping around him and turning him around to see Tommy behind him.

His heart started racing. It was a trap! He had fallen for the trap and for a _second_ he thought Tommy wasn’t the same Tommy he knew, and it was blown up in his face. Did he even still have his gun? He slapped his pants, feeling the gun in one of the pockets. Doing a quick maneuver, he grabbed the gun from his pocket and pointed it at the man holding him-

“Dream, help!!”

He looked incredulously at the man embracing him. He didn’t recognize him, but clearly the man knew him. His eyes darted to where Tommy stood, and he was wearing armor?

Was he… was he cosplaying?

Tommy sheathed his sword and put his hands out as if to say ‘don’t worry’. He was trying to disarm the situation, probably because Dream was holding him at gunpoint. “So, you see-”

“He hit me, dad!” The man in his arms said.

_Dad?_ He didn’t have a son. His certainty from before had melted away. Where the hell was he? Why was Tommy here? Why was there a random guy in a colorful ski mask calling him dad? Why were they all cosplaying as Mongolian soldiers??

Before Dream could question it any further, Tommy was hurtling towards him. Dream peeled himself off of the man in the ski mask and pressed his back against the wall, watching as Tommy paid him no mind, opting to chase ski-guy.

They ran around for a bit, Tommy chasing ski-guy with his sword and eventually getting to him, something exploding. Dream didn’t see the explosion, but he did see Tommy stab ski-guy right through the chest. The man fell onto his front, dead. Dream was a little shocked. Who the hell was that guy?

He felt a little buzz on his wrist. Dream lifted his forearm to check it, like he would if he was checking his watch, and noticed a small device strapped to his wrist like a bracelet. There was nothing on the device except for ‘Ponk was slain by Tommyinnit’ in blocky yellow letters. Was this some sort of game show? Was somebody watching everyone and sending messages of people dying? Why was Tommy laughing and cheering like he won a bet? He had never seen someone have that much fun killing someone before. 

Tommy walked back to the tree, and Dream followed him at a distance. Then he heard it.

The voice that had just called him dad was shouting from the top of the tree. “Fuck you, Tommy!” 

Dream looked up to see ski-guy, whose name was Ponk, he guessed, staring down at Tommy, playfully irritated.

What?

How was he alive?

Dream had just _seen_ him die. 

This was impossible. He couldn’t be alive. Even if he actually did survive the stab wound, which was likely because stab wounds weren’t instant deaths, he couldn’t have gotten all the way up there.

Dream thought about when he saw Ponk die. He had been stabbed, and then he just….. disappeared. His armor clattered to the ground, and his body seemingly evaporated, white dust spiraling up into the air. What the hell?

Maybe he teleported?

Maybe the man on the tree was a clone? Another guy in a ski mask with a similar voice? If they had clones, maybe that’s how they got Sapnap. 

Either way, he had just seen Ponk die, and now the guy was at the top of the tree. Dream had always known death to be permanent. Nobody would know it better than he did. He caused death. People around him had died. He had watched the fire die out behind countless people’s eyes, the embers slowly getting cold. He knew that none of those people would ever come back.

So why were they coming back now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major thanks to my wonderful(new!!) beta reader, @Wumi!!!! :DDD ilyvvvm


	5. to be irreplaceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait!! i'll try to update more often :)

Dream decided after a few minutes of standing and gawking at Ponk(not that he would know, since the mask was covering his face. To him it probably looked like Dream was ominously watching… plotting...) to sleep on it. 

People coming back from the dead was definitely new. It made Dream question if this was the same world. Maybe he _wasn’t_ the subject of an elaborate scheme. He tried to think of the last time he was awake before he woke up in Tommy’s yard, stepping quietly down the wooden stairs in the direction of his little cave.

He was in George’s room, Schlatt and Quackity were there… He remembered seeing something moving in the distance outside George’s window, recognizing it as a person with a rifle. Specifically, Technoblade with a rifle. He remembered questioning why he wasn’t doing the job in his usually kingly manner with his longsword and shining chestplate donning his family crest. Dream wondered if he was actually a royal. In the few instances he and Technoblade actually talked, he had denied being a member of any royal family, and his internet searches for any family with a crest matching the one Techno wore always came up dry. Either Technoblade was telling the truth and truly wasn’t a member of a royal family, or he hid it exceptionally well.

The sky then had been deep and cloudless, the stars fully visible. He had planned to talk to George about astronomy. Well, talk and do… _other things…_ but the stars were clear and bright so George would have explained every constellation he knew again. It was a perfect night for stargazing, and a perfect night for sniping. There had been a tiny faraway click, one Dream probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking directly at the source of it, and saw the telltale retracting arm movement of shooting a gun of that caliber. He remembered feeling a pain in his neck, right where his artery was, and his vision blurring… He vaguely remembered seeing George’s face over him, but it was watery, practically just splotches of color. 

That night, he had that weird dream with the silhouette. He didn’t really remember what happened, no matter how much he wracked his brain for the dialogue. He remembered the figure, and the chair he was in, and then he woke up outside Tommy’s house. It was all so confusing.

He considered the thought that nobody knew who Technoblade was, and though the notion of him being unknown seemed impossible before when he told Sapnap, he realized that he only asked people who wouldn’t have any relation to the mysterious man. It wouldn’t be too far fetched for them not to know him. 

Sapnap was dead. He had been dead for over a decade. George was the target, so of course he wouldn’t know about Techno… He would need to ask Tommy. He really didn’t want to do that.

He looked tiredly up at the sky, a muddled purple with splashes of orange in the clouds reflecting the setting sun, before reopening the cave entrance and climbing in. He closed it behind him, and shuffled into the small space. He made a torch, glancing at the remains of the previous torch and kicking the coal and charred wood into the corner. Maybe he would deal with it later. 

He made a new torch and curled up around it, the nighttime chill coupled with the unforgiving stone walls providing no warmth. He gazed almost lovingly at the dancing flame, thinking about nothing in particular as his eyelids grew heavy. 

The world went black for a short while, before he woke up somewhere new. 

He sat up slowly, groaning at the soreness in his back and leaning on a bent arm while he sat up. Something glassy jingled around him as he moved, and he looked down at himself. Instead of the green hoodie and black jeans he remembered wearing, he was wearing a short black mid-back-length cape with lime green lining, over a simple desaturated green leather tunic. The leather was soft, likely from age, but Dream didn’t remember ever wearing it. He wore a rope wrapped around his waist several times as a belt, tied in the front in a sturdy knot. There were makeshift rungs tied onto the rope, holding glass vials of mysterious bubbly substances that clinked together when he moved, like a windchime. The tunic fanned out slightly over his black parachute pants, and he wore brown leather boots that looked worse for wear. The soles felt oddly thin, like he was a few dragged feet away from walking with the balls of his feet touching the cool ground. 

He had a small leather satchel under his cape but still over his shoulder, but it was empty upon inspection. He wondered why he had it.

He took some time to examine his surroundings. The cool night air bit at his warm, freckled cheeks, but it was more refreshing than uncomfortable. The sky above was cloudy, but not entirely, and Dream could see some glinting stars peeking through the dusk. The moon just looked like a blotch of light, undefined and swirling with the movement of the gentle clouds. He watched it for a short while, admiring it when it was occasionally revealed, as if greeting him. 

He was on a rooftop, and something felt familiar about the place. There was a rickety metal banister on the edge of the building, and the ground was made of something that felt like a tarp laid over concrete. There was a seemingly abandoned shed in the middle of the roof, if the blatant holes in the walls and ceiling said anything. He pushed himself up from where he was sitting, feeling strangely light. His limbs were flexible and strong, and the heaviness he remembered them having was nowhere to be found. 

He slinked over to the shed, wary in case there was someone in it. He adjusted his ceramic mask, feeling the string scraping across his sensitive scalp on the back of his head, mussing his hair.

When he reached the entrance and stood so he was barely visible to anyone who might be inside, he looked in. 

Empty.

He ducked through the small doorway(where had the door gone?) and narrowed his eyes at what was inside. Brooms, a mop, things you would expect from what was probably a storage closet--though Dream was unsure why anyone would put a storage closet on a roof-- and other things you wouldn’t expect. Photographs in a neat pile behind the brooms, some stale gray water bread, apple cores and various wrappers strewn about. There was a lighter, several lottery tickets with odd scribbling on them in black ink, chalk… and something Dream would rather not look at. 

Tiny pale chips of something with a red mess of what Dream knew wasn’t ink on one end of each. 

Fingernails.

More notably, a _child’s_ fingernails. 

He averted his eyes to the rest of the shed. A gray t-shirt with a character Dream didn't recognize on the front, small enough to belong to a child of about seven or eight years, lay draped over a broom. A pair of folded blue jeans. Three pennies and a dime. Tissues, four sheets of blank paper, a box of black ball-point pens, a stack of newspaper. 

The floor was as dirty as he expected, since he didn’t think anyone ever came up here to clean.

The lighter was resting neatly on the folded jeans, like it was precious. Dream wondered who came here, who left so many things. He turned around to leave, and immediately stopped.

The exit to the roof, a metal door painted a light gray and leading to a steep, fluorescently lit stairwell. He recognized it. He _definitely_ recognized it, and his heart dropped. 

This was his old apartment building. 

He went back to the shed, thinking about his friend who always wore at least three bandaids on the ends of his fingers. 

His friend who he found _dead_.

His friend who he saw, all grown up, in whatever place he was in before he went back to his cave.

Nick.

He crouched, laying a hand on the grimy floor for balance, and using the other to reach behind the brooms for the photographs.

He felt the delicate paper under his calloused fingers, carefully pulling them out from behind the brooms, and holding them in his hand. It was upside down, so he turned it(turning his head too when it wasn’t all the way flipped since he was impatient and he wanted to _confirm his suspicions dammit_ \--). 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Sure enough, there was a boy with familiar fluffy black hair smiling up at him in faded ink, holding his mother’s hand. His eyes scrunched up sadly but he still smiled, a bittersweet tug at his chest. He remembered that Nick had stuck this photo to the corkboard over his desk with green tack. He moved the photo to the back of the pile. 

The next photo was Nick in his dad’s lap on their red couch. His dad was laying back on the arm of the sofa, an arm comfortably around his sleepy son and a children’s book clasped in his sturdy fingers. His mouth was half open, like he was in the middle of a word, his rectangular glasses perched low on his nose. His head was stretched back, his chin buried in his neck, like he was trying to read from farther away. Dream wondered why he was wearing glasses if he was doing things like that, but he remembered Nick’s parents never got prescription glasses, only the 6-packs from Costco.

It was a warm picture, a happy photo of a good father and his happy son. 

Dream moved the photograph to the bottom of the pile. 

The next photo was more jarring than the previous two. It featured Nick, wearing his green dinosaur backpack that Dream always saw him wear when they were little, standing next to… a brown-haired boy? 

Dream didn’t recognize this kid. He had fluffy light brown hair, a purple sweatshirt with a weird spiral on it, and jeans. He wore a million-watt smile and had his arm draped around Sapnap’s shoulders. They looked to be the same age.

Dream--for the umpteenth time since he woke up in that damned field-- was confused. Sapnap rarely took photos without him in them when they were little, hell, he rarely was away from Dream at all. On top of all of that, Dream had never met this friend of Sapnap’s. They were at school and he was wearing a backpack too, so Dream assumed he also went to the school, but he had never even seen him before. 

Sapnap was shining his award-winning smile at a camera with someone he had never met before, and it gave Dream a sort of jealousy. 

Sapnap was allowed to have other friends--of course he was, he was his own person--but Dream was his bestest friend in the whole world, and he could’ve at least introduced them.

Something was off here. _Sapnap_ was off.

The next photo was of Sapnap and the boy again, this time in their classroom, Dream recognized the background. But this photograph solidified Dream’s suspicions of something being very wrong.

The other boy was sitting in _his_ seat. 

He kept flipping through the photographs. The rest of them were all things he had done with Sapnap, snapshots of the time they spent together doing whatever they did as kids, but every one of them was with that other kid. That kid with the fluffy brown hair, who always wore the same sweatshirt with the green spiral on the front. 

That kid who almost looked a little bit like him, except his eyes were farther apart and sloped downwards on the outsides. The kid whose hair was only a few shades darker than his. The kid who was only a little shorter than he was when he was that age, he could tell from the height difference. The kid who had almost the same eye color he had.

The kid that was _in his spot_.

When he flipped to the first photo, he straightened out the pile carefully, like it could crack and disintegrate under his rough fingers if he put any of his bubbling jealousy into the action.

His movements robotic, his mind not fully present anymore, he put the photographs back behind the brooms.

_I’ve been replaced._

Dream thought back to all the times Nick had called him his best friend, all the times he had held Nick as he cried into his chest, all the times Nick had held him. All the laughs and tears and hugs and school lunches and packs of cheap colored pencils they shared. All the things that convinced him that he was irreplaceable.

He guessed he was wrong.

He ducked back out of the shed, closing his eyes and letting the night air blow through his hair and billow his loose clothing. The darkness behind his eyelids was welcome, almost wise in its infinity and stillness. As if he could find all the answers to the universe and also nothing at all in the same blank colorlessness.

Dream didn’t know why he was even here. It might have been a dream, but it felt too real to be one. Too vivid. 

It targeted his visceral longing to have his best friend back, and maybe it was just shock. Maybe this was just shock, the shock of seeing his late best friend alive and well. Alive and well and all grown up. All grown up in a world he didn’t remember.

He stepped forward, steeling his emotions and mentally preparing himself for what might lay beyond the metal door. His boots tapped softly against the roof material, the only sound in the placid night, three light taps until he stood in front of the door.

He let his palm rest on the cool knob for a couple moments, closing his eyes again and taking a steady inhale. His grip on the knob tightened and he turned it quickly, trying to get it over with. He stepped back with his left foot and swung the door open with a splitting whine of the rusty hinges, and he opened his eyes to see-- it was really anticlimactic.

It was just as he had remembered it, a flickering fluorescent lightbulb hanging from a wire and painting the stairwell with an ominous green tint, like a hospital in a horror movie. The stone steps were sunken and grayed in the middle, battered by countless footsteps and cracked in some places from who knows what. The ceiling was slanted to be parallel with the stairs, and the corners were dirty and dusty. He could barely make out the small cobwebs that decorated them.

The white paint on the wall was cracked and yellowed, blotchy and uneven from a job not well done. He descended the steep stairs, being careful not to fall and running a hand along the wall for purchase to stop himself from doing so. He closed the door behind him with the same deafening screech as when he opened it, barely wincing from the assault on his ears. When he reached the bottom, he pushed open the door with the same broken lock he remembered and was met with the wrong hallway.

This was the hallway that his and Nick’s apartments were on. Not the hallway leading to the roof entrance. 

He supposed it wasn’t the most jarring thing he had found in the last ten minutes, and brushed it off in favor of thinking about the small footsteps behind him. They came playfully tapping down the stairs, and he turned to look at who was the source of them. 

If his horrid memories from finding Sapnap’s rotting corpse hadn’t swarmed him earlier when he met him all grown up, they sure as hell were now, as he looked at the child he had loved so dearly. 

His hair bounced as he walked down the steps, running his hand along the wall just as Dream had moments earlier. He wasn’t looking at the steps, instead he was examining the lighter in his hand and descending the stairs by sheer muscle memory. The same lighter that had been on the folded jeans in the shed.

Dream didn’t know when Sapnap had got to the shed, how he hadn’t seen the little child up there when he was unintentionally committing every detail of the shed to memory. Regardless, Sapnap was now at the bottom of the stairs, reaching blindly for the door that wasn’t closed like it usually was. He looked up at Dream, making eye contact and mumbling a quick “hello, mister!” before continuing down the hall. He stopped at his apartment, slowly and methodically turning the knob and opening the door silently so not to wake his parents. Dream took a step down the hall, but the world changed around him when he did. Suddenly he was no longer in the hallway, but in Sapnap’s apartment.

Sapnap’s burning apartment.

Sapnap stood next to the window, activated lighter in a hand by his side. He seemed lost, too distracted by something outside to notice the flames licking at the old fabric of the couch next to him, but only for a moment.

Dream suspected he felt the heat of the fire next to him, snapping his attention to it and glancing between the lighter and the burning couch in a newfound panic. He stepped back, his movements unsure and awkward, tripping over his father’s shoes and falling onto his back. He sat up, still watching intently, hopelessly as the flames ate up more things. The pictures on the window sill. The wooden horse figurine his mother had had since she was little. The small, amateurish clay bowl Dream remembered making with him when they were younger. He supposed Sapnap had made it with that other kid, though.

The bright flames ate up memory after precious memory, uncaring of any sentimental value. Smoke started pooling in the ceiling as the fire spread to the table, then to the old shag carpet. Sapnap just sat there, shellshocked as he watched everything burn. 

He stole a glance towards his parents’ room, then another towards the fire, and a last glance to the lighter in his hand before scrambling to his feet and running out the door.

He brought his hand up to scratch at an itch on his neck, but there was something in his hand. He looked down at the newspaper cutout he definitely wasn’t holding a minute ago, the headline barely readable in the hazy orange lighting.

It read, “local apartment building on fire, two dead, one missing”. His brows furrowed when the words got clearer against the grayish paper, the lighting in the room blending into a soft argentine hue, overcast light pouring in from the charred and open window. Dream looked up.

He was still in Sapnap’s living room, but it was barely recognizable. Bits of ash floated in the air, all the furniture burnt black. It felt sort of post-apocalyptic, like Dream was looking through houses for survivors in a world that had burned to the ground.

Somehow Dream knew that the two dead were Sapnap’s parents and the one missing was Sapnap. He didn’t want to even think about the state their bodies were in, but judging by the state of the rest of the house, he assumed it wasn’t pretty.

He blinked and he was in a new place, again. He put a grounding hand on the wall next to him, the wallpaper a grayed peach pinstripe pattern, leaning forward and bracing his other hand on his thigh. This whole scenery-changing thing was really doing a number on his stomach. When he felt the bile go back down, he looked around. The layout was that of an orphanage. There were twenty or so beds in two lines in the room, and sleeping children tucked in in all but one. At the end, the moon’s light through the window illuminated the outline of Sapnap, who was sitting up with his legs still under the thin white sheets. The cotton pooled around his waist, accommodating his upright position. 

So someone had found him, and brought him here. Dream guessed that was really the only thing that could be done, but it didn’t soothe the forming pit in his stomach.

Dream knew what it was like to be orphaned. He didn’t know what an orphanage was like, but he assumed Sapnap wasn’t getting any professional help to deal with the trauma. It was clear that this orphanage had a low budget, if the place’s state of repair said anything. 

When Dream walked closer to Sapnap, he saw he was holding the lighter, resting the hand in his lap and staring mindlessly out the window.

When Dream walked into his peripheral vision, Sapnap turned sharply to look at him, his expression one of surprise until it melted into recognition.

There was a second of silence until Sapnap spoke first. “You’re the man from that night. When my house burned down.”

Dream didn’t respond verbally, only nodding smally. Sapnap scooted over, implying a request for Dream to sit down, so he did. The creaky bed dipped under his weight, and he looked Sapnap in the eyes. God, he missed those eyes. 

They were just as dark and intelligent as he remembered them, if not more empty.

They were silent for an uncomfortably long time while Sapnap looked at Dream, seemingly searching for something. When he didn’t find anything, he slumped a little.

“Mister, what’s your name?’

“Clay.” Dream swallowed thickly. He knew it was far fetched, but he longed to see some sort of recognition bloom on Sapnap’s face. A sign that this wasn’t real, that he hadn’t been replaced. 

“Clay, are you a ghost?”

Dream blinked at the kid. A ghost? “What makes you think that?’

Sapnap shifted, rocking slightly side to side and folding his legs in front of him. “You were walking down the stairs from the roof right before I was, but I didn’t see you on the roof. Then you were in my house when there was the fire, but you were… I dunno. Half invisible. You were there, I saw you there, but you were see-through. People don’t do that.”

Dream mentally applauded the kid at his ability to put the pieces together. Granted, Dream didn’t know what he was either, hell, he didn’t know anything about this place, but still. From what Sapnap described, him being a ghost was probably a good guess.

“Yeah, I’m a ghost.”

“Why don’t you float?”

“Not all ghosts float.”

“Is your name really Clay?”

“Good question.”

Sapnap gawked at him from the vague answer, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“What’cha plannin’ on doing with that lighter, bud?” The plastic lighter in Sapnap’s hand glinted in the silver light. Sapnap looked down at the little item in his open palm.

“Promise you won’t tell.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, I won’t tell.” Dream did all the movements that came with the practiced little speech, drawing an X over his heart with his thumb and then poking next to his eye with his pointer finger. It was something he and Sapnap used to do when they promised things to each other. Sapnap’s face lit up in recognition, so Dream guessed he did that in this strange universe too.

“I was gonna throw it away. I started the fire in my house, so I don’t know if I’ll do it again.”

Dream thought carefully on his next words, before continuing. “Are you afraid of the lighter, the fire, or the responsibility?”

Sapnap cocked his head to the side. Right, he was seven. Dream couldn’t be as vague as that, so he rephrased.

“What are you scared of?”

“Fire.”

“Why?”

“Because it took away my mom and dad.”

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Okay.”

Dream paused to take a deep breath. “In the world, there have been tons of wars. Many people died during the wars, and they were mostly killed by weapons. Did the weapons technically kill the people? Yes. But were the weapons at fault for the deaths of the people? No, weapons don’t have brains. The reason all those people died was because of the people handling the weapons. The fire in your home wasn’t the fire’s fault. You made a mistake, and that’s okay. It was an honest mistake. You’ve learned from it, and now you know not to do it in the future. But the fire doesn’t have a brain. It wasn’t the fire’s fault, so you don’t need to be afraid of it.”

Dream had let his eyes trail down to the lighter still in Sapnap’s hand, and when he finished speaking he looked up to see Sapnap’s expression.

Shit. 

He fucked up.

Sapnap was horrified.

Dream thought about what he said, and then it clicked.

Oh, he _really_ fucked up.

He had just told an orphan that it was his fault his parents were dead. He opened his mouth again to try and fix what he had done.

“I personally think fire is really pretty. When it’s small, it’s warm and comforting, gentle. It’s nice, and it’s really pretty. It dances, and I think fire’s a really happy thing.”

Sapnap looked less horrified than before, but still distressed. “So I shouldn’t throw away the lighter?”

Dream shrugged. “You can if you want to, but it’s a memory, and memories are important.” 

Sapnap looked down at the lighter, nodding slightly. “Memories are important.”

Dream didn’t know what to say, so he just sat silently.

“Clay?”

“Yeah?”

“Are big fires pretty too?”

Dream paused, eyes flitting to the window. He thought of his nights curled up by a communal fireplace with Fundy, talking about whatever. That fire was pretty big. “Yeah, big fires are pretty too.”

Sapnap nodded to himself. “I miss Karl.”

Dream wasn’t able to get another word in before the world around him changed again. This time, he was in front of a large, heavy-looking wooden door. _Goddamnit. And just as he was about to get answers._ The wood was dark and carved to have a compass shape in the middle. The needle pointed downward. Dream noticed the lack of a doorknob, so he pushed the door, and it mechanically opened on its own to reveal a triangular hallway. The walls met just above his head, and if he was a couple inches taller he would be dragging his head through the acute corner. His broad shoulders almost brushed the walls.

The hallway itself was short but velvety, expensive. The floor was carpeted in warm purple velvet, and the walls were intricate and papery. There was a large inscription on one wall that read “Serafina and the Man in the Black Cloak”, and nothing on the other. There were thin, intricate designs swirling on the first wall in gold, and similar designs on the other. Dream didn’t touch the wall, afraid he would ruin it somehow. It seemed old, delicate. 

The door closed on its own behind him. 

It didn’t take Dream long to reach the end of the plush hallway, and when he did his breath caught in his throat. 

Not from what he was seeing, no, from the massive drop a little less than a foot out from the end of the hallway. He gripped the convenient wooden molding beside him so he wouldn’t fall, and deemed it sturdy enough to hold his weight as he leaned out. There was a large library, one he just barely recognized. Giant books lined the walls, and he quickly realized that the hallway he just walked through was actually the space between a leaning book and the book it was leaning against. 

Dream didn’t have much time to examine his surroundings before a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pog?  
> comments are appreciated uwu


	6. i waited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really pay attention to the word choice in this one. it's supposed to clear some things up. short chapter today.
> 
> plus theres a metric fuck ton of important details lol

Dream whipped his head around, almost falling over the ledge, to face the source of the voice. It was just more giant books. There was nobody there.

“You think you have the right,” the voice continued, once again behind him. Dream turned quickly again, his cape raising a little from the rotation, but got the same result. Maybe he was hearing things. The voice was behind him once again, “to come in here and waste time?”

This time the voice was ominously close, and Dream could feel breath on his right ear. “Sapnap, I don’t-”

“You know exactly where you are, Dream.” Sapnap’s hands snaked to hold Dream’s waist, then slid forward to circle around Dream’s stomach. Dream felt the smaller man press up against him, Sapnap’s chest warm against his back.

“I really don’t.”

Sapnap chuckled, letting his forehead fall onto the back of Dream’s neck. “Dream, don’t be so stupid. Really think about it” His voice was strange. Clearly hostile, wickedly amused, but Dream could sense hints of the lonely child with the bandaged fingertips underneath. Sapnap’s hands were gentle around him, holding him like he was made of glass. Like he missed him. 

Was this his Sapnap after all?

When Dream looked down at Sapnap’s hands, they were an inky black, with a slightly wavering outline. 

“I know you recognized that building.” Dream _did_ recognize the building. It was his old apartment building, the one where he had grown up, the one where he had found Sapnap’s dead body, how could he forget it? Now he was in this giant library… He didn’t know where he was.

“Stop analyzing like you’re in the waking world, _Clay_.”

Then it clicked. 

He was dreaming. Of course he was dreaming. That was why he was teleporting from place to place, talking to a young Sapnap and watching him burn his house down. He shouldn’t be thinking in terms of places _he_ had been, he should be thinking in terms of places _Sapnap_ had been.

Things Dream was noticing started fitting together.

The things in the Dream were flashbacks. Sapnap’s flashbacks. That’s how he was still alive, his parents had never killed him. That’s how Tommy was nice, he wasn’t the boss of a company! And Dream himself wasn’t dead…

Because he had been reborn.

“Now you’re thinking properly.” He felt Sapnap’s brow furrow against his neck. His hold tightened around him.

Dream thought for a minute for speaking. There was one thing _really_ throwing him off.

“Sapnap,” Dream breathed. Sapnap hummed against him. “Who are you?”

Sapnap laughed. “You were always good at putting things together, weren’t you?” 

Dream didn’t say anything.

They stood in silence until Sapnap spoke again, his tone slow and deliberate, fragile, almost. “I waited for you,” he began, “I waited for you, I watched you grow up, I watched everything. Well, not everything, I didn’t watch what you did with George at the end there,” Dream blushed, and he could feel Sapnap’s shit-eating grin. The grin fell a moment later, his hands loosening their hold on each other and moving so Sapnap’s palms were right on Dream. His grip tightened again as he hugged Dream, _felt_ him. “I waited for you. I didn’t really think some of the things you were doing were great but that would’ve been okay. When you died, I was so fucking _happy_ , Clay. I was so excited…”

Dream felt a wetness on the back of his neck. Sapnap’s voice became strained. “It’s been fourteen years. I missed you so _fucking_ much… but,” Sapnap gave Dream a final squeeze and pulled away. Dream craved his warmth again the moment he backed off. “I’m not really here. You’re in the new Sapnap’s mind, now. The one from this timeline.” Dream’s breath hitched. He was right.

This wasn’t the same world at all.

He sniffed, and Dream could sense him wiping his tears. Sapnap’s words were slow, dripping with the same longing that Dream had felt for almost a decade and a half. “I’m glad I got to see you again. The arbiter sent me. Please try to do the right thing, so we can be together again? I’ll still be watching, and I’ll be waiting for you when you finish.”

Dream huffed, damp and tired. “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I turn around?”

Sapnap didn’t answer for a second, before letting out a tiny, wet laugh. “Goodbye Clay.” Dream heard retreating footsteps against the wood, before they stopped. “Oh, and by the way?”

“Yeah?”

“Check your satchel.”

Dream turned and looked behind him. It was the same empty place he had seen before, the same rich oak flooring and the same giant, dusty spines of the books. This time, however, there was a statue carved into the divider of the shelf. It depicted a small boy, he recognized young Sapnap, looking down at a compass. The compass was real, resting in the wooden Sapnap’s hands. 

Dream walked over, mindful of the ledge, to the little statue. He took the compass from the small hands, his eyes widening in worry when the compass took one of the wooden fingers with it. He pried the finger off the compass, kneeling and trying to put it back onto the statue’s hand, but it wouldn’t stick. Dream exhaled and let the finger roll from his fingers to the middle of his palm, gently flipping it in his flat hand. There was a small ‘D’ engraved on it. 

Dream cocked a brow and looked at the other wooden fingers. A ‘G’, a ‘K’, two ‘T’s, a ‘P’, and the rest were unmarked. The ones with the ‘T’s on them were on the far right, the farthest away from the other marked fingers. 

Dream stood up and looked down at the compass he still held. It had a small smiley face sticker on it, crudely colored in with green highlighter. 

Dream didn’t know what to think of it. He remembered Sapnap told him to check his satchel, so he reached to where the bag was resting on his side and pulled it to his front. 

He opened the flap, immediately noticing the small leather container wasn’t empty anymore. 

At the bottom of it there was a small plastic lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you didn't catch it, i repeated something from an earlier chapter, in terms of wording.
> 
> comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, comments are appreciated :)


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